The heart takes time to heal
No bandages will do
The pain significantly real
And blood's still seeping through
For damage done there are the clots that come
When finally washed away as healed wounds

Scabs appear but disappear
And leave their scars behind
No remedy exists to alleviate the final act
To cure the marks of defeat

The flow of life needs to travel to its destination. Reaching the crude road of veins which touch the human core and patiently trusting the arteries to breathe life in through the stream.

The heart takes time to heal
No catalyst to drive its
Recovery, the slow process
Of tender love and care
Crucial to refresh and cleanse the body
The clock does not unwind to the will of the one that distrusts his heart

We blossom

When art starts to hurt,
the love affair begins.
Red autumn is poisoned with green envy through sapien generated raindrops.
Water, the conduit for energy to pursue its destination.
It rushes impatiently and soon electrical currents buzz recklessly through the neurological maze of a self-conscious enigma.
Stimulated grey matter in the womb of the skull.
Mind's eye lazily reminisces, of one's loving patience
as hands lay cold
on the empty bed
faded in hues of pale blue from over use.

Irregular posture, cramped up foetus beckons sore neck to turn.
Move. The human visage facing dew covered windows.
Natural tragedies...
Petals begin to fall,
And leaves start to wither
I plant you, the seed, into this irrigated soil
You demand perfection
But perfection is pain, a labour of love
As I wipe the dirt from my face, still wishing you to be free
Compassionate intentions to give away these white wings to soar freely, effortlessly through the sparse sky
I watch you spread your wings, flying and your speed so sharp that you clip mine in the process.
So I fall, I fall from the cloudy sky, trying to build the ladder that reaches for your presence
The ladder covered with splinters, I still continue the journey with my gravelled hands attempting to reaching you.
You stay, I leave
I want to be there with you, can you take me under your wings?

I want to lay out my own path.
I'm not interested in criticism.
Just me to make my work.
I am self sustainable.
I am the curator of my life.
I know what to do.
I don't need information.
I know I my inspiration.
Distill your feedback into something useful.
I don't need walls of superficial knowledge.
You sell us a promise of a future.
We pay for our own employment.
You've sold us a lie.
These papers on my desk.
They're shuffled sheets and burnt away.
Certificates of completion.
Graduation, a superficial celebration.
A regalia gown, to be rented.
Go ahead and take our money.
Give success to the special ones.

I'll burn this bridge,
Its already crumbling
There's a thousand more.
I'll swim if I have to.
As I fall into the ocean,
Lost at sea,
I remember where I need to go:
Two steps forward; one step back.
Gotta wait, gotta wait
For those lights, please save
Me.

On board these ships, its not the same.
Expecting what I had with you,
We'll cross paths again
When time's better,
Maybe in another life;
This one's so finite.
We are limited by time.

It rocks and withers, and I'll have to depart.
Comrades come, while the rest leave.
We disappear and reappear,
I rent this terrain once more.
My feet still walk,
Stronger yet weak,
Cautious yet confident.

Finally do I see
A new bridge to cross.
You pass, we smile
Silent memories
Remind us why we're here,
Compassion fills our hearts
And there's all that that I see.

But here, the crystal ball glows,
It wanes into the hour,
The luminescence fades,
Our memories devoured,
The screen of our future,
Turn into grains of white noise.

Opens his cabinet of curiosity,
The scent of the planet wafts into the air.
He places each fragrance in immaculate order and condition.
Such earthen delights, encapsulated, distilled into a jar of souls.
No fingerprint left on the glass.

He takes his next stride over the sandy shores of his home,
The tide ebbs and flows,
Ray of light from above to down below,
Photon mapping the sun,
Diffising light into a lens flare.
Its trajectory directing to his hands,
Wardrobe slides open with the touch of a finger.
A library of monochrome, an archive of black and white, a collection of minimalism, an array of simplicity.
Rustic are the belongings of the terrestrial,
But lavish are the ornaments of the collector.
Embellished walls juxtaposed against endless skies,
Terrariums: isolationist preservation, and Forest: organically flourishing.
Miniscule minutiae, subtlety in nuance, a paranoid finesse.
The speed of the natural world,
to be constantly refined and delved within.
This is his work.

Terrorise me
Launch a full scale assault.
Ambush.
Bombard.
Inundate.

A sea of dead bodies, corpses, and cadavers.
Blood, liquid crimson, death rattle red, morbid maroon, malicious magenta.

Raise your weapons.
Launch your assault now.
Bayonet, rifle, machete, smokescreen.
******, shoot.

Assymetrical warfare,
you have the power.
Sedate the masses with
The ***** of today.

The effects are the same.
Subtle, yet different.
Cheaper, efficient.

Greymarket legality.
Keep pushing drugs in.
We're just pawns in war.

So soldiers come.
Pillage, and ****.

pillage and ****!
Passing chips, watch tv.

Watch TV.

Distract yourself.

Blank